


Unto Dust

by alice_pike



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist, Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-18
Updated: 2014-01-18
Packaged: 2018-01-09 02:46:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1140515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alice_pike/pseuds/alice_pike
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>This boy's eyes are black and his skin is pale and he wears neither the military blues of Amestris nor the desert robes of the Isbalans and he fits into this war-riddled landscape like neither of them ever could.</i>  Or the one where Nico is helping Thanatos clean up in Ishbal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unto Dust

**Author's Note:**

> Needed to flex the ol' writing muscles. This happened. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Tumblr post is [here](http://levesquesque.tumblr.com/post/73666005966).

The boy comes out of the shadows and Roy can't be sure that he saw him, doesn't even know if the boy is _real_. There are children here, of course—Roy knows all too well that there are children here—but this boy's eyes are black and his skin is pale and he wears neither the military blues of Amestris nor the desert robes of the Isbalans and he fits into this war-riddled landscape like neither of them ever could.

 _The heat_ , he thinks—desert mirages, hallucinations, any number of things are possible here. The boy flickers at the edge of his vision and when he signals to Hughes, Roy gets only a raised eyebrow in response, the shadows obliterated by an erupting column of flame. 

It's not an isolated incident; and there is a day when one of Riza's bullets grazes nothing but stone, yards away from the nearest Ishbalan, and she rejoins camp that night with shadows playing across her features, a question lingering in her eyes.

"The boy," Roy says across the campfire, almost feverish with enthusiasm, but Riza looks at him with such genuine surprise that he recoils, hissing like her gaze has burned him. 

"A man," she replies instead, after a moment of consideration, like she isn't sure that she should say anything at all. "He was…beautiful," she continues haltingly, like she had forgotten the word and everything it could encompass.

Hughes spares them a glance, but doesn't say a word. The look in his eyes, though—calculating, determined—Roy knows means he will keep both ears open.

 

Roy doesn't see the boy again for months. Hughes reports no whispers, relays no rumors; but sometimes Roy can feel eyes on him—not friendly, exactly—not like Riza's sharp gaze that feels like a tether, an anchor to keep grounded—but not hostile, either, more…watchful. 

He materializes in the corner of the hospital _that_ night, shadows clinging to his clothes. Roy is not surprised to see him, not surprised to learn that he is real: He has seen too many things already that cannot be explained. 

When the boy speaks, Roy listens. His voice is soft and lilting, and it cuts through the chaos of Roy's mind like an unexpected dagger to the back. 

"Thanatos hasn't taken them yet," he says, not bothering to gesture to the bodies at Roy's feet. "Not that it would matter," he continues, as if talking to himself, working through some technicality or other. "But it's easier this way. Thanatos appreciates my help," he says, addressing Roy again, "but he doesn't like it when I… _meddle."_ He says the last bit with a curl of his lip that could be either a smirk or a sneer, Roy cannot tell.

Roy doesn't know who Thanatos is or what help this boy could offer him. He stares his confusion at the smear of shadow still looming above him.

"I could bring them back," the boy finally explains. "Saves me reaping one more soul." And the look he gives Roy is not pointed or sad, but matter-of-fact—so matter-of-fact that it sobers Roy like being doused in cold water. 

"No," Roy says to the boy, who looks at him wryly, as if he is not used to having this offer refused. But Roy knows that it _will not help,_ even if this boy—this fragile, dark-clad angel—could do it. Orders are orders, and these ones would kill him to carry out twice. 

The boy shrugs when Roy shakes his head, adamant in his refusal, and says over his shoulder, "Let's not meet again, Mustang, yeah?" before slipping back into the shadows. 

The boy is true to his word, and Roy does not see him again. 

(Fire only casts its shadow on walls, and Roy is wreathed in flames until Ishbal is nothing but dust beneath his feet).

 

Roy returns to Resembool more than a decade later (one Elric grudgingly happy to see him, the other pleased) and is struck by the way shadows seem to dance across the walls of Winry's home as they gather around the table, talking late into the night. He doesn't miss the way Winry's eyes linger at their edges, the way she follows their progress across the room, as if she is looking for something, as if she is waiting for someone to appear.

Roy has not thought of the boy in years, but he feels the weight of that gaze on him like it was only yesterday, and he can't help but look to the shadows himself. 

But Winry is not haunted, has never clung to the past once it has been lost to her, and Roy knows that it is strength, not cowardice, that will lead to her refusal of his offer.

(The shadows are all but chased from the walls when Roy closes the door behind him).


End file.
